"A letter came to my office yesterday evening, after I had left, which was placed in my hands this morning. Before proceeding to take other steps, I thought it might perhaps save unpleasantness, and be fairer to you, if, in the first instance, I acquainted you with its substance."
"From whom is the letter?"
"From your late uncle, Graham Patterson."
"You say it reached you last night? I don't understand."
"Nor I, as yet, quite; I can only form a hypothesis. It seems that the letter was written at Brighton some time on Sunday. Clearly, from the postmark, it was posted at Brighton on Sunday. It ought to have reached me, of course, on Monday, but the presumption is that, owing to some vagary of the Post Office, it went astray, so that it has been more than two days on the road, instead of only a few hours. Under the circumstances that seems rather a curious accident. Here is the letter. I warn you that you will not find it a pleasant one."
"Is it absolutely necessary, then, that I should know its contents? My relations with Mr. Patterson were not of a kind to lead me to expect any pleasantness from him, either on paper or off it."
"The position is this. It is my duty to place this letter before--someone else, when very serious consequences may ensue; but, by taking a certain course, you may relieve me of the duty."
"In that case, let me know what is in the letter."
"I had better read it to you, so that you may understand that the language is the writer's, not mine."
Mr. Wilkes withdrew a letter from an envelope which he took from his pocket; the envelope he held out to Rodney.